30 Years Ago- Newfoundland Highland Forest

A log cabin sits alone in the woods. The peaceful puff of smoke from the chimney and the stillness of the trees is in stark contrast with the painful cries of a screaming woman. After a particularly loud cry, birds scatter from a nearby pine and alight into the air. 

Silence reigns for several heartbeats before the crying of the woman is replaced by the cry of a newborn girl, whose voice is shortly joined by her twin brother.

25 Years Ago

For some people, an abusive home is something that happens to them. A relatively, quiet peaceful life is suddenly interrupted by a slap, a kick, or a slammed fist that echoes like thunder; the violence reverberates throughout time, becoming a linchpin where things had changed.

But when you grow up in an abusive home, especially one in the middle of the woods, it's just how things are. Even if one has a sneaking suspicion that their life could be better, the abuse is not a thunderbolt that changes everything. It's simply a dog on a leash that you learn to walk around and avoid provoking as much as possible.

Still, even some monsters find it difficult to cross the line and hit their own children, even if they have no problem hitting the mother of said children. Until those children step out of line.

One particular evening, 5 year old Gavin Byrne saw his father level his mother with a particularly brutal punch, followed up by a forceful push down the floor, where he held on to the back of her neck. 

Amidst the ranting about how full of dirt the cabin was, something in Gavin snapped. He grabbed one of his father's hunting knives from the table and moved toward his father with the blade in the air.

Five year olds, unfortunately for Gavin, were not innately talented killers. His father easily grabbed his son's wrist and knocked the wind out of the boy with his fist, leaving him gasping on the floor- where he received a kick in the ribs for good measure. 

It was the first time Gavin Byrne rested on the floor with his eyes closed, wishing his father was dead, but it would be a thousand more before the last time.

20 Years Ago

"No. Fucking idiot. You missed again."

Gavin was ten, holding a rifle that was far too long for him, feeling the critiques of his father.

Tara was inside, reading books. She spent most of the day with their mother. Gavin was jealous, but he didn't hold it against Tara. He spent just about every day out hunting, learning how to track, to shoot, to move silently. It seemed far more interesting than whatever Tara was reading, and some days, he even managed to sneak away from his father. Those were the good days, even when he had to pay for it later.

But most days he was bludgeoned into a machine that learned how to kill. Hare, geese... caribou, if they were lucky.

His father was a constant threat, domineering and always alert. Once, Gavin had pointed his rifle at his father and tried to pull the trigger, but the man reacted as if he'd expected it, grabbing the barrel of the gun and slamming into Gavin's face. After that beating, he'd been in bed for a week. 

It had been the best week of his life, and the only one he cared to remember once the forest in Newfoundland was long behind him. His mother tending to him, Tara bringing him soup, due to his loose teeth. He was even able to listen to Tara read to their mother. But as soon as he was healthy, he was dragged outside to be a hunter again.

The last two weeks had been scarce for hunting. Gavin took the knife his father held out as they walked into the shed- it was too small to be called a barn- near the cabin. Wordlessly, Gavin began skinning the hare as he heard Tara milking their single cow. That milk had been keeping them going during the lean times.

So when Tara accidentally kicked over the bucket, Gavin knew it was going to be bad. Their mother and Gavin were almost always the targets of George Byrne's ire- and his fists. Tara was occasionally slapped, but never truly beaten. Whenever it seemed like Tara was frustrating their father, Gavin always found a way to frustrate him more. 

Every punch he earned, he told himself that at least it wasn't Tara.

As the spilled milk faded into the dirt floor of the shed, all three Byrnes froze as they stared at it. Gavin and his father started moving at the same time, with Gavin throwing himself at his father's foot to trip him before a kick sent him backwards. Grabbing a shovel, the boy went on the offensive, yelling for Tara to run inside. 

Tara managed to make it inside. Gavin managed to make it through a couple minutes before getting thrown back into the wall of the shed hard enough to knock him out cold.

When he woke up, his father was passed out, his mother was crying, and Tara was holding his hand- with a red mark on her face, but otherwise unharmed. Gavin smiled before drifting back to sleep.

15 years Ago

As Tara grew older, her father's willingness to hit her increased. He even started hitting their mother less. Gavin was growing stronger, but the fifteen year old was no match for a full grown man. Still, it seemed that every time he threw himself between his father and his sister, the old man hit just a little less hard, and Gavin got up just a little bit quicker. 

Tara was as dirty as any girl would be growing up in the middle of nowhere, but on the rare trips into the nearest village she still got looks from the boys, which seemed to make their father even angrier. 

Gavin had spent the last decade stepping in between his father's fists and his sister, and he finally felt like there was hope. He was often in the woods on his own, hunting. Tara could marry a man in the village, and he could take care of himself. They could even get their mother to go live with Tara.

But George Byrne still never let his guard down, and although he had trained his son to be deadly, silent, and vicious the old man still possessed an aura of invincibility and a seemingly perfect understanding of Gavin's mind. 

Someday, Gavin promised himself, he'd find a way to take him down. Until then, he just had to survive, and keep his mother and sister safe. He believed it could happen.

That belief was shattered when he saw Tara running at him through the woods, dress flapping wildly in the wind. Something was wrong. He heard her, but it was a long time before he understood.

"He killed her! He killed her! He killed-"

Gavin simply started running, pushing past his sister and sprinting, carefully placing his feet between the many rocks and roots in his path.

He entered the cabin at full sprint, skidding to a halt and freezing.

His mother- her body- lying on the floor. Neck twisted unnaturally. A grimace on her face. The corner of the table, wet with blood. His father, kneeling in silence on the floor.

George met Gavin's eyes, and the same shade of icy blue seemed to communicate what was about to happen.

Both men moved at the same time, with Gavin raising his rifle to fire and George grabbing the barrel and yanking it to the side.

The gunshot was deafening inside the house; the bullet lodged in the wall.

Gavin leaped on his father like a panther, raking at his face with long nails.

The two men began trading punches- not slow, ponderous haymakers- but a series of lightning fast strikes. Gavin had never moved so fast, and he'd never shrugged off punches as easily as he did now. The blood was roaring in his ears, and he wasn't sure when he'd started screaming.

But it wasn't enough. Within a couple minutes, he was on the floor again, listening to his father's voice, wishing the man was dead.

"You little bastard. You think I did this on purpose? It was a goddamn accident. I could barely fucking control you as it is. Everything I've taught you, as strong as I'd made you, and you hate the person who made you strong? Fuck you. You're never going to quit now are you?"

Gavin could hear the sound of his rifle being loaded and forced himself to stand up. He made it as far as his knees before looking into the barrel of a gun.

The gun dominated his vision- even as there was slight movement in the doorway. Gavin closed his eyes, knowing he'd give the game away. Instead, he simply listened, knowing that whether there would be a gunshot or not, it would be over either way. 

When Tara planted the ax into their father's back, Gavin was moving before he heard the grunt. Grabbing the rifle from his father's hands, he flipped it, caught it, fell backwards toward the floor, and fired in one fluid motion.

Tara and Gavin buried their mother next to the cabin, spending an entire winter chiseling a gravestone with imperfect tools. 

They dragged their father's body far away from the cabin and left it for the wolves.

10 years earlier

"I don't want to live like this forever, Gavin. It's been years. I've read every book in this house at least seven times, and you said yourself that hunting just doesn't give you the same thrill. We have skills, but we'll never be able to apply them in the middle of nowhere."

"So where do we go?"

"South. To America. One of the coastal cities. Giant buildings. Thousands and thousands of people. There's opportunity there."

Gavin remained silent. Tara took that as a sign that she should keep talking.

"We both know how to move silently. You're an amazing shot. I have my studies, and I could easily find some work."

"I don't want to slave away in some fucking factory. I heard about it in the village. Those city folks grind themselves down to nothing trying to get ahead."

"Then we'll break the rules. We have skills. We'll make it work."

Gavin didn't say anything for a long time. When he nodded, the grin that spread across their faces was identical.

Now

Gavin and Tara stood in front of the grave, the etchings on the gravestone long worn away by the sands of time. Two identical bouquets of roses rested on the ground. The had both walked around the cabin, which had already half-disintegrated as it was reclaimed by nature. Gavin had piled up dried leaves inside the cabin and done his best to clear the area around it, per Tara's recommendations. As he walked out of the cabin for the last time, his eyes lingered on the spot where he'd lain for a week, cared for by his mother and sister. He also looked at the spot where his mother's body had fallen that day.

As he exited the cabin and tossed the match, he didn't give a shit how many trees went down with it.

The future was murky, unknown. But he'd never be back here ever again.

Tara rested a hand on his shoulder as they both watched the flames grow higher.